


Paradise Lost

by NimWallace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Crowley used to be raphael, Heavy Angst, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 07:46:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19313749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimWallace/pseuds/NimWallace
Summary: Aziraphale Falls.





	Paradise Lost

Aziraphale felt that out of all things on Earth, his favorite by far, were the humans.   
What quaint and fascinating creatures, absorbed in themselves and material and others, obssessed with the holy and the sinful and the restless; humans are machines without function, and he loved them.   
He was, in all respects, quite human himself, however he didn't like to admit it. He was just as human as Adam, or Crowley. He was a Holy Being, but an Earthly Being also, with desires and selfish ambition and doubt.   
All the worlds a stage, as Shakespeare said, and Aziraphale certainly felt that the Almighty was watching Her plan play out like a Greek Tragedy. He wondered if, all along, She had planned for him to be friends with Cr0wley. If she put him near the Eatsern Gate on that day just so he could meet him.   
He didn't like to think too much of Her plans, though. Best not to question Her.   
Instead, he satsified himself with literature and music and art and the company of a certain wily serpent with a fondness for Queen. It was a lot easier to cope with all this if there was constantly a sarcastic yet lovely demon to talk to about it.   
Days went by, then weeks, and months. Soon, it had been a year since the Almost End of the World, and Aziraphale was tiring of fending off customors and and buying new shelves.   
Crowley was at the shop every day anyway, and that's where Aziraphale's next idea came to him.   
"Perhaps we should buy a house together."   
Crowley, who had been relaxing in an armchair, oblivious to the angel's fantasies of domestic bliss, looked up in surprise.   
"What?"   
"Buy a house together. Perhaps a little cottage, in the South Downs? I've been thinking, it might be nice."   
Crowley was still looking startled, but was now considering the idea.   
"I could have a library, and you could have your garden," Aziraphale pressed on. "Plenty of empty, county roads to race your Bentley down. Hooks on the ceiling to hang your vines."   
Crowley's eyebrows furrowed. He had been here every day since. . .well, since the end. It wasn't as if Hell would give him any trouble for it any longer. And he could pop over to London whenever he saw fit.   
"All right," he said. "Why not? Let's buy a house together."

Being roomates with Crowley came, unsurprisingly, easy to Aziraphale. He was already used to seeing the demon lazing about in the sun or yelling at his plants, so there was hardly any change of routine save the location of it.  
Aziraphale found that, more often, people were mistaking them for a couple, not that he minded it, nor corrected them. He was often referred to as "Mr Crowley" by people in the neighborehood who assumed that he was married to a particular Anthony J Crowley, who had an affinity for human names.  
Aziraphale still did not know what the "J" stood for.   
He did not call Crowley Anthony, purely because it was not the name he had always known him by, and found using his third name to be more intimate by far. He had tried Anthony once, and found it tasted completely bitter to his tongue, and Crowley looked digusted besides, so that was the end of that experiment.   
The longer they lived in the Downs, the easier they became with each other. They had a freedom they did not have before.   
The first time Aziraphale told Crowley he loved him, it was a mistake. Crowley was about to go out for a bit, there was a concert he wanted to see that Aziraphale had no particular interest in, and he was heading out the door.   
"I'll be back around 3, yeah? See you, Angel."   
"Goodbye, my dear. Love you."   
Crowley froze, and Aziraphale felt his hands go numb on his book.   
"What was that?" Crowley hissed quietly.   
"I-I said I love you," Aziraphale said firmly, face bright red and neck warm. "Do stay safe."   
Crowley, speechless, just nodded, looking a bit dazed, and left.   
He came home nearly two hours early, threw his jacket on the ground, and kissed Aziraphale fervently.   
"'Love you too," he explained, and left Aziraphale sitting there, stunned and flustered.

Aziraphale asked about Crowley's days as an angel for the first time in 6,000 years on a warm, rainy morning in August.   
"Crowley, what was it like before you Fell?"   
Crowley, who had been lazily tracing the lines of Aziraphale's hands, suddenly stiffened.   
"Before I was a demon?" he said, somewhat hollowly.   
"Yes, my dear. If--if it isn't too painful for you. I'd like to know more about it."   
Crowley was silent for some moments.   
It is inevitable, as in all things in life, that at some point, you are asked a question so complex and terrible your throat closes and your heart stops. Trauma feels like war, and questions feel like bullets.   
Crowley, in this moment, nearly keels over like a wounded soldier, he has been struck again. But he does not flinch. Love is a vicious and powerful thing. Love conquers war, always.   
"I made galaxies," he said quietly. "I--I was a healer, an archangel. One of the big three."   
"An archangel!" Aziraphale gasped softly. He did not know Crowley had been so important during his time in Heaven. "And a healer, nonetheless. Oh, Crowley."   
Crowley didn't look at him, but focused on the ceiling. "My name, I--I don't even know if I'm allowed to speak it anymore--my name was Raphael. I don't believe we ever knew each other, then."  
Aziraphale could've wept, and in that moment, he looked close.   
"You were Raphael?" he choked quietly. "My dear."  
"I know. I--I was told I had a lot of potential, you know. But I--I asked too many questions, and I didn't like the archangels, and then, I Fell--"   
He had to stop there, because he was too close to crying. Crying, for demons, felt a lot like getting burned does to a human. Demons are unforgivable, and their pain, therefore, is excrutiating in all ways. Tears are like wax to them, only hotter and fiercer.   
"Don't weep," Aziraphale warned, placing a comforting hand on his cheek. "You'll hurt yourself."   
Crowley swallowed, collecting himself.   
"When I Fell, I still wanted to be Good," he said. "I still wanted to Heal people. I still do."   
"I know, darling."   
Crowley leaned in to his touch.  
"Don't ever Fall, angel," he said softly. "Not for me. Not for anyone."   
Aziraphale looked worried, but wanted to comfort him.   
"I won't, Crowley. It's all right."   
He was lying.

When Aziraphale Fell, the Heavens didn't weep for his loss. Gabriel gave Uriel a look of "I knew this was going to happen" and Sandelphen only shrugged.   
When Aziraphale Fell, the only person who wept was Crowley, who bent over his angel's crippled and mangled form and wept harder than he had in his existance, so hard that he could feel his skin burning off and he was trembling all over.   
Aziraphale lay on the ground, unconscious, bloodied. His ichor had turned an inky black instead of gold, and dripped onto the ground like dew from a foxglove.   
He had known he was going to Fall, in a way, he knew it since he first guarded that Eastern Gate.   
He was too much for Heaven, he supposed. He loved too much, and all the wrong things. For a start, Crowley.   
The final straw, the one that landed him here, had been asking for Crowley's forgiveness.   
He didn't know quite what he expected to come from it. Maybe that somehow, Heaven would take him back.  
Instead, they threw Aziraphale out.   
"If you want him to be like you," they said, "go join him."   
  
He first opened his eyes to meet Crowley's.   
"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said.   
And the stars trembled.

 


End file.
